The power of words
by MarieGourmont
Summary: "The powers of words is indescribable... this is the story of the man who changed my life through the power of his words..."


**Disclaimer: **i do not own Sirius Black nor all the characters in the canon universe, those are the property of J.K. Rowling.  
I, however do own the idea for this story, Marie Lyra, and all the characters that give shape to _her_ universe.

**Prologue**

The power of words… It's a weird thing. Unlike any other magic it can change the course of destinies, it can change lives. Say the right word and someone could be killed... or could be reborn... Reborn... I wonder if what happened to me was that I was reborn. In any case, the power of words came to my rescue when I most needed it, and I haven't regretted listening to those words all those years ago. I'd do it again if i had the chance to choose...

My name is Marie Lyra Sirius Black, Lyra pronounced as Leera. I am currently 26 years old and I have not much time to live. The Battle of Hogwarts left me with a permanent curse wound that will eventually kill me, but it is a small price to pay from the joy of mutilating the killer of my father, my dear second aunt Bellatrix... The honour of killing her wasn't mine, but I am proud I at least gave her some of her own medicine in her final moments. My wound? I still see it as not enough for what I got in return, but I suppose we should count our faeries not our pixies...

I decided to write this story, not because I feel I have a claim to fame or to power and success but because it narrates part of the life of a very brave, very strong man whom I had the honour to call Father and the misfortune to lose before time: Sirius Black. He changed not only my life, but also many others' and thus he deserves to be remembered like the great wizard he was.

As you could have guessed already, I am Sirius' daughter. Sadly his only daughter, and sadly... the only living Black left, and not for long now. Harry, whom I treat like a brother, says I will die off anticipation rather than the wound and sometimes It hink he's right... But, let's just leave that talk for later.

Alright then, why don't we start from the actual begining? It'll be easier to take it up from there...

Sirius was born in the autumn of 1959 into the poor blooded, most anciet, most honourable house of Black... or at least that's how my grandmother would've said it herself. I suppose troublemaking runs in the blood, because just as him I was born in Autumn and if it hadn't been for Dumbledore's charitable heart and some tweaking of the rules I wouldn't've been able to make it in time to meet all my delightful friends.

Anywys, back to my father. As any other wizard, he got his letter at eleven, and by the time he had arrived at Hogwarts, Sirius was noticeably different from his family, and by noticeably I mean the differences were as noticeable as a howler screaming at your face while a Decoy Detonator blasts under your seat. Proof? He got sorted, like the rest of us, into Gryffindor. Sometimes when I walk into his room I feel in Hogwarts all over again, the quantity of Gryffindor banners there is amazing, all charmed with Permanent Sticking charms of course, Father was no fool...

His early years are obscure to most, and they would've remained like that if he had had no knowledge of a descendant, or so I was told by my second aunt Andromeda. When Uncle Remus told him that he had a daughter, Father made it a point to store as much information about himself and my mother as possible. Thus, he enabled me to know him as others knew him and to regain lost moments that otherwise would've been forever forgotten. Every event he thought worth remembering is stored in a little bottle, marked with the exact date, neatly nestled in it's compartment in this box. I have seen my father as a six year old, frowning at a corner in the kitchen, grounded for saying that muggles were people just like them; I've seen him six years later, bullying Severus Snape on his way to the library; and then at age sixteen wooing my mother with a demonstration of Transfiguration magic the likes I've never seen before... nor after for that matter. Everything that he thought worthy of me to know is in this little lacquered box, sealed with the symbol of the Marauders, also containing a lock of his hair and his favourite vest.

But there is no time, nor space big enough for me to possibly write his whole story. I wish I could, but my own body is making me aware of the impossibility of such a task. So I'll have to leave this to healthier, more fitted people and will just talk about his late teenagehood, how he came to know my mother, and how he came to change my future and the future of the wizarding world...

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A.N: Thanks for reading, I've been working a bit on this story and I'm liking it so far, but it's not only for me, it's also for you; so, if people like it I'll start uploading the rest of the chapters. Please leave a comment with con-crit, it'll be help very much! ^.^


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